


London Calling

by aithley



Category: Hannibal (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aithley/pseuds/aithley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An inscrutable serial killer strikes in London, bearing a striking resemblance to the Chesapeake Ripper. With no consulting detective to turn to, Greg Lestrade requests the help of Will Graham. </p>
<p>Hannibal/Sherlock crossover. Set post-Reichenbach, after episode 7 of Hannibal. Eventual Will/Hannibal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	London Calling

_Who will feed the dogs,_ is Will Graham's first thought, which he thinks is _kind of... no, acutely depressing_ , considering he's never been to London before, and this would be his first vacation in _what, 7 years?_

_Other people would be thinking Big Ben. Shakespeare. The Queen, the fucking QUEEN and I think about my dogs, my God, what is wrong with me..._

He's not really listening to Jack Crawford anymore. Something about a detective who died... John... who? Scotland something... _I could devise a pulley system. Which could release food throughout the day at timed intervals?_ Will's eyes close slightly and his head sags. _It shouldn't be too hard to rig if I use the... but who would walk them?_

"Alana likes dogs." Jack's voice hit Will like a fist upon a desk.

Will blinked. "Sorry?"

"Alana Bloom has agreed to care for your dogs while you are away, on the condition that Dr. Lecter accompanies you."

Jack smiled.

"I can tell when you're not listening, Will."

Occasionally, Will Graham gets to feel stupid, and for that, he is thankful.

 

-

 

"So, we're agreed."

"Not particularly."

The 'particularly', so unusual-sounding from the stoic man's lips, curled round Alana's ears the exact way Hannibal wanted it to, and she smiled.

"How can you make a refusal sound so kind?"

Hannibal paused. He smiled on the rim of his wine glass.

"Practice." Hannibal took a small sip.

"I thought you would be jumping at the chance..." said Alana, taking a gulp of beer. "You know, they have _crazy_ theatre over there."

"Mmm."

"Also - the food! Oh, and they -"

"I am not starved for culture, Dr. Bloom, and I have visited England before."

"Doctor?" Alana raised a brow. "We're professional now?"

"This is a professional matter as it regards my conduct. I cannot take two weeks away at such short notice. My patients rely on me. It would be unprofessional. Not to mention, discourteous."

"I can appreciate that..." Alana rose. She perched upon Hannibal's desk, elevated above her fellow doctor, and looked at him, listening intently.

_An attempt at control,_ thought Hannibal. _Adorable._ He gazed upon her features in the orange lamplight. The light he chose was kind to all his patients, but kindest to a face like Alana's. _So beautiful._ Almost beautiful enough to convince him.

"Then we are agreed? It would be unprofessional and you cannot ask me to do it."

"No." 

Hannibal permitted a small sigh, a shadow, to escape his long lips. God, but she could be persistent. Worse still, she had the mother of all bargaining chips which she had, as of yet, been gracious enough not to use. 

Alana's voice was higher and quieter than usual. "Will." 

_Until now_. 

Hannibal's voice rose a fraction. "You must not..."

"If you don't go-" Her voice cracked.

"Jack will-"

"Jack _isn't going_ , Hannibal. It's just going to be him. Just him, in a strange city, with strange people, on _his own_ , all because Jack Crawford..." Alana stopped herself.

She pursed her lips. Composed herself, and continued her verbal assault on Hannibal with new fury.

"What if he has an episode, and he's on his own? What if he can't bring himself back from the edge, what if he doesn't know when it's _too much_?"

It was enough. Hannibal rose from his chair. He thought about Will, and the more he thought about Will, the more he realised the inevitable conclusion of his and Alana Bloom's conversation.

Alana crossed the floor, and put her hand on Hannibal's arm. The contact was unprecedented, but certainly not, thought Hannibal, unpleasant.

She looked at his glassy eyes as if trying to communicate wordlessly before she spoke. "Hannibal, _please._ It's two weeks. Your patients will survive. Will might not. You must go with him. You must."

Hannibal's mind was made up even before he asked the question on his sensitive tongue.

"What is the purpose of this consultation with Scotland Yard?"

"Jack thinks the Ripper's took a little vacation."

 

-

 

If Hannibal Lecter had been unsure about the extent of his care for Will Graham before his conversation with Alana Bloom, he was keenly aware of it now. The two men waited for Jack Crawford in his office, the midnight oil now well and truly burned as the _care_ sat dripping over Hannibal's shoulders like death.

He looked at the tired, incredible face of Will Graham.

"You're staring."

_Of course I am, you terrible, little thing._

Hannibal tilted his head. "How long did you sleep last night?"

"Wow, see you're assuming I slept at... all..." Will sunk back into his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

Hannibal smirked. Sometimes Will sounded like an irate teenager, and he was sure he had noticed it was much easier for him to get into Will's skin than anyone else...

He clung to that possibility. The possibility of his unique touch alone being the one to most move Will. He shifted pleasantly at that thought, until he realised there was limited evidence for his claim. _Was there any evidence at all?_

_No._ When he was around Will Graham, he took delight in how easily he could unnerve and move him. When he was manipulating anyone else, he did it just as easily, only he did not notice, or care.

Hannibal realised his logic was the one of a man in love. Noticing what he wanted to. Discarding anything that did not correlate with his keen desire.

Will spoke again, eyes closed, head still tilted to the ceiling. "I can't remember if I slept, but there was a period of some... quiet..."

Hannibal loved the way his voice slurred over words sometimes as if he was drunk, or barely conscious. _Until I met Will Graham_ , thought Hannibal, _I was not aware of the all-encompassing, passionate potential of a psychopath's love. The minute details I would delight in that would not involve a person's death._

It was love, after all. Just not how the normal world viewed it. And probably not, thought Hannibal, how Will Graham viewed it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, because 'I don't have friends', so feel free to send me a message if something is incorrect. Which it probably will be because I am *horrible* with tenses.
> 
> At the moment, this is going to be mostly Will/Hannibal with Sherlock's London as a setting, but I'm sure Johnlock will tug on my heartstrings once I resurrect Sherlock Holmes... 
> 
> Also, I will probably take a long while to get to the sex. *Moriarty voice* Sorryyyy...


End file.
